6.24.2017

Arboledas / Guillermo Sucre

Groves

To Pierre de Place

Neither the light nor the sky directly
Awareness the only thing budding in those branches
The other sun
What is compact has become a slanted glimmer
Leaves pruned by the wind
The summer’s radiant tail passes between us
The ambushed panthers are there at night
Thousand-eyed swamp suddenly illuminated
Feathers of a great bird standing on end
The sacred terror in the creaking wooden house of my childhood
The original density of language
Its murmuring silence of silent glowing
Up above your glance ripples
The only mirror where I find my abyss